


Bad Timing

by SeaweedCat



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Coffee, Daredevil and Spider-Man are Best Bros, First Aid, Foggy Knows Matt is Daredevil, Foggy is Stressed All the Time, Gen, Honestly Mostly Just Matt & Peter, Kind of Suggested Matt/Foggy?, Pretzels, Slight angst in second chapter, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, You can see a ship if you squint hard enough, lots of banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27656693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaweedCat/pseuds/SeaweedCat
Summary: It's kind of like that feeling when you say hi to someone you recognise at the grocery store, and then you see them again in the next aisle and you have no conversation topics left to fill the horrible void that was your social life, but just a little worse than that.
Relationships: Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Peter Parker, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Matt Murdock & Peter Parker, Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 184





	1. Aisle One: Nelson and Murdock

**Author's Note:**

> Wow first fanfic I've finished in what, 2 years? I'm quite happy with this one, I just love the Daredevil/Spider-man dynamic so much and I really hope we get to see them team up in the cinematic universe someday.
> 
> Open to critiques but please be nice xd

“ _Put me down._ ”

Matt steadily marched forward, ignoring the voice yelling in his ear.

“Matt, I swear to god, I’m gonna kill you as soon as I get my hands on you–”

“Peter, I am feeling _very_ angry right now, I strongly advise that you don’t piss me off even more right now.”

“ _You’re_ angry?” Peter squawked indignantly. He turned his head to stare incredulously at the older male who either didn’t feel the movement at all or completely chose to ignore it. The younger vigilante currently had his whole body hoisted over one of Matt’s shoulders, fingers clinging to his armour to avoid slipping off. “Who’s the one being carried around like a sack of potatoes? You have no right to handle me this way –”

“I’m not violating any constitutional rights as far as I’m concerned, but more importantly I did _not_ ask you to jump in front of me like some suicidal monkey –”

“Yeah, well I didn’t ask you to collapse on the ground and become unresponsive for three seconds now, did I? What was I meant to do, let those weird ninja thingies stab you instead?”

“ _Yes_!”

Matt suddenly hefted Peter’s body up to adjust his grip, ignoring the pained groan that escaped the younger man’s lips as he did so. He steadily ignored the fresh flow of blood that immediately began dripping down his back. The whole upper half of his own body was already soaked in copious amounts of _not his_ blood if the familiar and overwhelming smell of copper and the disgusting feeling of his suit sticking to his skin was anything to go by, yet Peter was _so_ high off adrenaline that he was still somehow yapping on in his ears like an angry chihuahua and somehow _completely oblivious_ to what seemed to be _dozens_ of stab wounds littered across his body.

“You can barely walk!”

“And you can barely move at all thanks to your unwanted sacrifice. Stay still or I’ll knock you out.”

“Where are we even going?!”

Peter definitely did not stay still as he nagged him non-stop all the way much to the older man’s chagrin, even as they entered Matt’s tiny law firm and broke into the first aid kit conveniently hidden in his desk. He seemed to barely even register the various deep cuts and stab wounds in his body as Matt painstakingly cleaned and wrapped every single one of them, occasionally having to pin him down out of necessity when Peter got a little too fired up while talking gibberish about something along the lines of knife-wielding insects and the consequences of trying to practice self-sacrificial rituals (Matt had tuned him out long ago, he wasn’t even pretending to listen anymore).

More than once, he had to remind him that there were people living nearby who did _not_ need to know why two neighbours next door were yelling at each other at ass o-clock in the morning and to _shut the hell up before someone calls the police to check up on us._

It was only when Matt was finally done treating him that the adrenaline in Peter’s body seemed to finally ebb, and the younger man finally was able to sit relatively still in a chair to let his healing factor perform its magic. He pouted and made all sorts of faces at Matt under the full knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to see any of them, but that was short-lived as each minute movement in his face irritated the developing bruise on his cheek. Now he fiddled with a paperclip, bending the flimsy piece of metal into a straight line and curling it into all sorts of shapes whilst occasionally snacking from a jar of pretzels nestled snugly between his crossed legs.

“…So.” The teen finally said after a brief moment of silence, like he hadn’t been grumbling and complaining for the past hour. “Hell’s Kitchen has ninja bugs now?”

Matt heaved a sigh, finally pulling off his cowl and running his fingers quickly through his hair. He leaned against the desk, folding his arms (and grimacing at the pain it caused). “They’ve been turning up every now and then for a few months now but never in numbers like this. They’re evolving too, because I’ve never seen them wield knives before, let alone have any proficiency with them.”

“Huh. Guess it’s a good thing you had backup this time around, then.” Peter picked a grain of salt off the pretzel. He watched idly as it bounced off his leg and fell to the ground and briefly wondered if Matt would ever be able to find it.

“I told you, I had the situation handled. What were you doing in this area anyway?” Matt heard a muffled but unmistakeably sharp sound somewhere around the vicinity of Peter’s hands and a barely audible ‘oh’. Perhaps he was snapping pretzels in half, or the paperclip finally couldn’t handle any more stress from being twisted around so much.

“Slow day at work.” He grinned up at Matt. “Plus that one Chinese place on 8th Avenue has the _best_ steam buns ever. I saved their shop from a car going out of control once, I don’t think I’ve ever had so many buns in my _life._ ” Peter muffled a yawn at the end of his sentence. “Got a coffee machine around here?”

“Caffeine is the last thing you need in your system after getting stabbed eleven times. It inhibits iron absorption and you’ve got about as much blood left in you as a toddler.”

Peter whistled. “Eleven stabs? Not bad. Still doesn’t beat my record though. Baker’s dozen.”

“I don’t think I ever want to hear that story. No coffee.”

“Wow, somebody is _definitely_ not getting a recommendation tonight. Two out of ten on Yelp; worst customer service. Ever.”

“Tonight?” Matt tilted his head, brows furrowed. “What time is it? I hear birds.”

“What?”

There was a muffled shuffle as Peter looked for a clock. “Oh. Wow. Lordy me, it’s almost five. That explains the withdrawal symptoms. I’m getting coffee.” The older man barely suppressed a sound of disapproval as Peter bounced out of the chair and stood up, possibly re-opening half of his wounds. He grabbed a small handful of pretzels, then placed the jar back on his chair and shuffled to the back of the office, finally mindful of his injuries.

“I never actually said we had a coffee machine!”

“Nice try, old man.” Peter called from the next room. Matt huffed in defeat as he distinctly heard the sound of ceramic on a wooden surface, a mug being placed on the table. The familiar clicks and clacks of the coffee machine coming to life. And a repressed grunt of pain. As he listened, however, there was something else that caught his attention.

Peter hummed under his breath, lifting up five pretzels with just his sticky fingertips and eating them one by one. The smell of fresh coffee was a welcome change to the blood he had been forced to smell for the past few minutes, though he begrudgingly admitted to himself that yes, maybe his eyes were constantly falling shut without his permission and he was going to be in just _a little bit_ of pain later on when his brain finally caught up to his body. Until then though, he was more than happy to stave off the effects for a bit longer with some delightful coffee and a healthy dose of denial.

When he stepped back into the office, he saw that Matt’s head was tilted slightly and immediately softened his steps as much as possible, knowing better than to distract him while he was listening out for potential threats. Or police sirens. Or anything.

There was a tense silence as Peter waited apprehensively. When Matt continued to make no movement, he shut his eyes and also began to tune his heightened senses into the outside world. Though his senses were nowhere near as keen as Matt’s, he trusted that he would be able to pick up at least _something_ of importance if it was close by.

Cars honking. People shouting.

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, hearing nothing out of the ordinary, then expanded his senses even further.

Matt’s breathing. The clock ticking. A bike passing in the street below. Echoing footsteps on concrete. A pigeon’s wings flapping. And then –

“Foggy’s coming.” Matt’s voice broke through Peter’s concentration and he jumped a little at the unexpected clarity of his voice resounding right next to him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to alarm you, but uh, he’s two blocks away, and if you want to keep your identity safe then you should probably leave.”

Peter took a few moments to properly absorb and digest what came out of Matt’s mouth as his senses began to tone down again, but then he perked up at the mention of his friend’s best friend.

“Foggy? You mean _the_ Foggy Nelson?” He gasped. Matt’s mouth twitched slightly.

“The one and only.”

“What? Are you kidding me? Like hell I’m leaving then, I’ve always wanted to ask him about your deepest darkest secrets.” Matt stared at Peter for an indefinite amount of time as he swaggered back into his chair and settled back in with the pretzels back in his lap. When nothing else happened, Peter grinned.

“That’s sweet.” He finally deadpanned, and snatched the mug away from the younger man right as he was lifting it to his lips.

“Yeah, I’m Peter Parker, freelance photographer assigned in Hell’s Kitchen for an article about the ever-changing sociology and public opinion on vigilantism, but I was accidentally caught in the crossfire between vicious weapon dealers who were armed with illegally acquired semi-automatic guns, some guy trying to steal from them, and by pure chance the Devil himself – Does Foggy know you’re Daredevil?” Matt’s mouth ticked in amusement and nodded, “Great. So by pure chance the Devil came in and saved my ass, and we’ve since bonded over snacks and coffee so now we’re best friends.”

“Daredevil doesn’t make friends.”

“Yes he does. Peter Parker is the most charming guy you’ve ever met.”

Grumbling to himself, Matt stood up and disappeared into some other room. “Stop smiling. I can feel it from here.”

“ _Beeeeest_ friends.” Peter called after him, smugly tossing a pretzel into the air. He ignored the ache in his jaw and the painful twinge in his ribs as he neatly caught it in his mouth with a victorious crunch.

“Foggy’s coming up now. Here.” A hand appeared in the doorway and tossed something in Peter’s direction. Peter caught it in the air without looking and stared at the bundled white fabric. “I started storing some spare clothes here when he found out about my identity.” Matt spoke as Peter brushed crumbs off his fingers and unfolded the simple button-up top.

“Do I get to keep this?”

“If you get blood on it, yes.”

“ _Awesome._ ”

Putting on a regular shirt should not have been hard, but the swelling somewhere on his left elbow, the sheer bulk of the bandages on his shoulders and arms and the weird pulling he could feel between his shoulder blades where his skin was stitching itself back together definitely did not make things much easier for him. Oh, and not to mention the broken rib. And the light-headedness. Peter decided that _maybe_ he didn’t come out of the fight as unscathed as he would have liked, but hey, he had all his limbs intact and didn’t pass out, and that constituted as a win these days for the average vigilante, didn’t it? Right as Peter managed to do up the last button (stupid bandaged hands), the office door flew open. 

“Honey, I’m home!” A voice sing-songed from the doorway.

“Oh. Hi Foggy.”

“Well isn’t that just a heart-warming welcome, I thought you didn’t say hi to people anymore, Matt! And that was definitely not Matt’s voice, so…” Foggy turned to Peter gave his best winning smile to him. “Hi, welcome to Nelson and Murdock! I’m assuming you’re a client. Matt, is he…” Foggy trailed off once his mind registered the multitude of bruises littering the kid’s face and every inch of skin that was visible. Fortunately, Peter’s legs were so heavily bandaged that it was nearly impossible to see the iconic red-and-blue tights underneath.

The smile slowly dropped from his face as he took in the white rolls tightly wrapped around the kid’s hands and arms, and the _blood_ that seeped through at spotted intervals.

“Hi. I’m Peter.” Peter flashed his best winning smile in return and waved cheerfully. Matt chose this moment to re-enter the room with normal civilian clothes, a blazer neatly folded over an arm. He made his way back to the desk and nodded in acknowledgement at his fellow associate.

“Hi Foggy. Didn’t expect to see you here so early.”

Foggy slowly turned his head to Matt, not taking his eyes off Peter as if blood would spontaneously burst out of the scrawny kid. “Do we need a hospital?”

“No.”

“Absolutely not.”

They both answered at the same time. There was a short silence.

“Matt, why is there a dying teenager in our law firm?” Matt cleared his throat.

“Foggy, this is Peter Parker, freelance photographer. He uh, he was unfortunately caught at the wrong place at the wrong time so I got him out of danger and, uh, now he’s here.” Peter nodded along to Matt’s words, embracing his best innocent teenager expression.

“Alright then. Peter Parker, may I ask why your _butt_ is not in a hospital right now? And am I the only person panicking here?”

“Well, about that –”

“Peter has a strong dislike for hospitals, he specifically asked me to not take him to one.” Matt cut in quickly. Peter blinked.

“Yes. That is very true.” He drawled slowly.

“True doesn’t mean it’s right! If he bleeds out and dies here then you’re responsible! And because I was also here and I saw him I’m also responsible! And now we’re all responsible and now I know I shouldn’t have come in early today!”

“It’s alright Foggy, he’ll be fine.”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Foggy emitted a long groan of pain.

“Are you serious, Matt? I –” He suddenly slapped a hand across his own mouth, eyes going comically wide. “Did I just – does he –?”

“Yes.” Peter interrupted. “I’m good at keeping secrets, don’t worry.”

Foggy’s eyes grew wider.

“I’m, uh, kind of good friends with Spider-Man so I know how important this is. Super trustworthy.” He pointed at himself for emphasis.

There was a strange pause as Foggy’s eyes flickered back and forth between Matt and Peter, but then he seemed to suddenly compartmentalise that information into a separate part of his brain because he began droning on again like he never interrupted himself in the first place.

“Are you serious, Matt? I take my eyes off you for twelve hours – _twelve hours_ – and you turn up to work with some kid bleeding out on our carpet? It’s not even Halloween yet!”

“Peter’s not a kid, and as much as I hate saying this, I know he’s capable enough to take care of himself in most situations –”

“This doesn’t look like most, Matt! He’s dying! Do I need to call the police? Vigilante-ing is one thing but once civilians are getting involved –”

“I understand your concern Foggy, I really do –”

Peter swivelled his head back and forth from Matt to Foggy, somewhat feeling like a child stuck in between a lover’s quarrel.

“Uh… Should I leave – ?”

“Are you hurt, Matt? Please don’t tell me you’re hurt as well because I can’t deal with two people dying right in front of me at the same time –”

“I’m fine, Foggy. Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

“Oh! I have pretzels! Want some?” Peter offered the jar to him, a peace offering. There was another moment of silence as the two lawyers paused to collect themselves.

“Alright.” Foggy sighed in defeat. “What brings you to our grounds then, young one? I had this seriously weird dream about my teeth falling out nonstop last night and Google said it meant I was feeling stressed out, so I decided to come in early to get a nice change in scenery since I couldn’t sleep anyway, but not-” he waved his hand in Peter’s and Matt’s general direction, “-this.”

“Haven’t you heard his name around, Foggy? He’s the photographer for the Daily Bugle.”

“Mhm. I get beat up all the time. Used to it.”

Foggy’s face fell faster than a pile of bricks from the top of the Manhattan Tower.

“All the time?” he echoed faintly, eyebrows rising up to his hairline. Peter nodded. Foggy’s gaze slowly travelled up and down Peter’s body, no doubt indexing all the injuries that he could visibly see and making a terrifying and educated guess on what kind of _torture_ he must have gone through to think that this was anywhere near ‘okay’ on the pain spectrum.

“Sorry, I think I need a quick moment. Excuse me.” Foggy walked backwards to the office entrance, awkwardly smiling at Peter in a ghost of an attempt at saying that everything was okay as he slowly shut the door with shaky hands, but the silhouette of his body was still visible through the frosted glass.

A moment of silence passed as both Matt and Peter stared at the closed door.

“So. ‘I’m fine’, you said?” Peter asked, turning back to stare at him accusingly. “How are _your_ stab wounds feeling?”

“Much better than yours, that’s for sure.”

“You’d better take it easy tonight because if I find you swinging around Hell’s Kitchen I’m knocking you out.”

“That should be my line.”

They both heard a faint intake of breath outside, the only warning they got before they heard–

“ _GODDAMN IT, MATT!_ ” Foggy screamed into the void, followed by a long groan as the silhouette slowly sunk down and out of sight.

Matt leaned towards Peter slightly.

“I guess that’s your cue to leave.” He muttered. “I’m not sure how much I say is going to get through your skull but please indulge me anyway. I beg you, _please_ reach out to someone, literally anyone if you feel like you might actually bleed out and die, or if you’re not feeling well for _any_ reason. Got it?”

There was a bit of that Daredevil voice hidden in there that promised some serious consequences if Peter didn’t listen.

“Of course. You got it, boss. But only if you promise to do the same.” The smile returned to Matt’s face.

“I promise. Out and at it then, web-head. You’re making my business look bad.”

“Pardon me then, sir. I shall take my leave immediately.” Peter stood up and gave a shaky bow. “I’ll be back soon to ask for an official statement. For, uh. The Bugle. Yeah.” He flicked his wrist, and suddenly the jar of pretzels were in Matt’s hands. “Thanks for the free food.” Matt listened in either silent amusement or pity as Peter slowly and painstakingly stood up, torn and healing muscles stiff already from staying in one position for just a bit too long.

Foggy was crouched on the floor directly in front of the entrance with his face buried in his hands when Peter opened the door. On the way out, Peter gave a firm and good-natured pat on the back. “See you around, buddy. Thanks for having me.”

Matt didn’t need vision to know exactly what kind of face Foggy was making when he walked back through the door ten minutes later.


	2. Aisle Two: Just Murdock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: This takes place quite a bit after Chapter 1, where Matt and Foggy's friendship is kind of non-existent. Slight angst warning?

Matt unceremoniously crashed onto the couch of his own home and immediately went to clutch at his ribs, breathing shallowly at the damage. Definitely broken. He tried to hold in how bad it felt (and probably looked), but did a terrible job masking it if Peter’s heart rate spiking was anything to go by.

The younger man was unusually quiet today as he began patching up his wounds with a practiced ease, which was generally not good. A quiet Spider-man was always a bad sign, because it either meant that he was severely overthinking something minor in his life or seriously reconsidering his ‘no killing’ mantra. Given that the silence had begun the moment he had dragged Matt out of that _literal_ torture chamber without fatally injuring anyone he came across on the way, the older man really didn’t want to think about which option was more likely.

As much as he wanted to break the silence though, he wasn’t sure if it would be the right move because he just wasn’t used to dealing with him when he was like this. Aside from his stilted grunts of pain, he hoped that his own lack of words was enough to convey his concern to the young arachnid. Fortunately for him though, Peter was the one who eventually spoke up first as he brought a cotton pad of antiseptic to his face.

“You wanna tell me what that was all about, then?”

Matt instinctively flinched away at the stinging contact against his bruised cheek. Peter made a noise of disapproval, and this time Matt braced himself this time and fought against his body’s knee-jerk reaction as Peter carefully rubbed the dirt and bacteria away, practically setting the whole side of his face on fire.

“There’s been some suspicious people trying to track me down for the past few weeks. Got careless.”

“You too?” He pressed gauze on his face – much gently this time – and began to tape it down. “I’ve been seeing them around Queens, but I didn’t think they were trying to kidnap anyone.”

Stalking vigilantes was unfortunately not an uncommon thing these days, but being able to physically apprehend them – especially one with powers – was definitely not a good sign. Those things never went well, and if they were trying to revive Howard Stark’s project to build an army of super-soldiers, the one man in the world who was almost able to pull it off successfully was long dead.

Absent-mindedly, Peter moved Matt’s arm to treat another wound in his arm but then he suddenly hissed and jerked away, arm resting uselessly against his side.

“Ah, shit. Is your shoulder dislocated?” Matt grimaced as he tried to move his left hand around.

“Think so. Didn’t even realise.”

“Ah, hell... Uh… sorry in advance, but this is probably gonna hurt like hell.” Peter muttered as he placed one hand on Matt’s shoulder and the other around his forearm, feeling around for the extent of the damage. He knew exactly what was coming, but still nothing could have prepared him for the searing and sudden pain when Peter forcefully lifted his arm up and popped it back into its socket in one smooth movement. A long, excruciating moment passed as he locked his jaw to prevent any noise from leaving his lips.

“Yeesh. That’s not even my shoulder and that hurt to watch.” Peter shook his arm out. “I think my arm’s numb.”

“Shit. Dammit. I think I need a drink.”

“A drink? Nooo way. As much as I wanna see what a tipsy Daredevil would look like this is _not_ the time, but carbs? That’s a yes. You got any good food around here?”

“I have a coffee machine.” Matt wrinkled his nose at the lingering smell of antiseptic as he tried to sit up. “And no, I still remember that one time you drank coffee in my office so I get a pass too.”

“Nu-uh, I bet you can’t even get off the couch on your own.”

“No, I cannot.”

“Don’t do it, Matt –”

“Thanks, Peter.”

Peter crossed his arms, looking about as intimidating as a toddler.

“……Do you at least have a cookie jar or something for my troubles?”

“Absolutely.”

He knew he had the victory when Peter uncrossed his arms.

“Fine, but you don’t get to complain about the way I make it.”

“As long as it’s actual coffee.”

“Scout’s honour.”

As soon as Peter’s back was turned Matt grinned. Ah, how much he loved messing around with the younger vigilante; anyone who worked with him for long enough would immediately notice his sweet tooth, and the lengths he would go to for just a single grain of sugar, and Matt wasn’t above taking advantage of that whenever he could. For only good reasons of course. He listened carefully as Peter rummaged around the cupboards for a cup, then started up the coffee machine. While it spluttered to life, Peter began to idly snoop around, opening and closing cupboards, the fridge, drawers, anything he could get his sticky fingers on.

“Ooh. Found the cookies.” Matt frowned.

“I was actually lying about the cookie jar, Peter.” He called.

“Yeah, well then I must be blinder than you because these cookies are… hm,” More rummaging. A crunch. “Yep, definitely cookies. Do you want a cookie, Matt?” He shrugged, even though he knew Peter wouldn’t be able to see from where he sat. And who was he to question the existence of a mysterious cookie jar? From the additional rummaging behind him, Matt knew that Peter had taken the silence (or invisible shrug) as an affirmative.

Before Peter could touch anything else in the kitchen though, the doorbell rang.

Both men stiffened at the sound, years of conditioning embedded into their muscles at the intrusion. They waited it out, but then the doorbell rang again. And again.

“Is it one of them?” Peter whispered. Matt listened carefully, eyebrows knitted together in concentration as he zeroed his senses on the other side of the door.

There was a heartbeat – that was a plus, especially if it had to come to a fight. But then there was a quiet ‘ _come on, Matt’_ that made _his_ heart stop. Matt had to physically remind himself to breathe before he could speak again.

“No.” he whispered, “It’s not.” He closed his eyes. “You should probably get the door.”

Wordlessly, Peter tossed a blanket at Matt to cover up his wounds and quickly slipped on a button-up and slacks to hide his costume. His boots and gloves were thrown haphazardly under the couch, and he quickly gave up on trying to button up his shirt when the first two buttons he tried buttoning didn’t align properly. Matt faced his direction, head tentatively tilted to listen as he slowly made his way to the door, feet making no noise as he reached forward.

The younger vigilante strained his ears to hear the other side. At Matt’s pensive nod, Peter opened the door by a crack, suspiciously eyeing the man on the other side.

* * *

Foggy wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with Matt anymore.

It had been about two years since they broke up their friendship, but that didn’t stop him from being nosy and checking in on him whenever he thought he wouldn’t notice. Of course he was still ballistic at him for keeping secrets from him and constantly bailing on him when Foggy had tried to be as understanding as he knew how to ever be, but that didn’t mean that it was easy for him to throw away the years that they had spent together and try to forget that Matt had ever existed in his life. He probably would have been able to get away with it had he not cried himself to sleep the night before over a sale on avocados at the local fruit market.

And so here he stood now, in front of Matt’s door, nervously fiddling with his duffle bag and reciting the speech he had planned for when he opened the door. Just like an opening statement in court, only he wasn’t trying to sue his ex-best friend. The idea of trying to sue him sent instant shudders down his spine. No, he would never do that to get that sort of petty revenge on him no matter how hurt he was, and goddamn it Foggy, focus because the door was opening.

What he didn’t expect was a short and significantly younger barefoot brunet to answer the door.

A quick one-over assured him that no, he was too skinny to be Matt and he was too old to be a secret illegitimate child. And Daredevil did not make friends. So. Client. Client?

He just stood there for a moment, words forgotten as he remembered that yes, Matt was still practising law and Foggy was officially an idiot for forgetting that, even if it was just for a single moment. Then he closed his mouth, cleared his throat in an attempt to sound professional and recover his dignity then straightened his spine.

“Uh,” _Smooth._ “Hi! Is Matt here?”

The kid’s (man’s?) eyes narrowed slightly, just enough to unsettle him. Not a client then. Was this person in front of him one of those vigilante stalkers that had been mentioned on the news recently? A drug dealer trying to hide out in a lawyer’s apartment? He seemed to resemble a stick more closely than a person, but upon closer inspection Foggy could see the _toned_ _as hell_ muscles as the kid (man?) tensed at Foggy’s gaze as if it was invasive. (okay, maybe a little, but given that this place was his ex-best-friend’s apartment, he had a _bit_ of a right to check out who was randomly answering the door for him, right?)

“Not here.” He said in a clipped voice.

Oookay, no rights then. Foggy nodded, an apology on his tongue as he slowly turned around to begin his silent walk of shame back to his car, but then the kid suddenly froze, his head tilted slightly to the side while looking straight into Foggy’s eyes in a way that prevented him from looking away and not at all uncomfortably reminding him of the way Matt stopped talking mid-sentence when he heard something three blocks away.

“Foggy.” He said suddenly, and Foggy did NOT jump at his voice.

“Yeah, Foggy Nelson? How did you –”

“Come in.”

Foggy tightened his grip on his bag. Okay. Abort mission, this kid was definitely about to kill him and coming to Matt’s place had officially turned him into the target of whatever cult this was, judging by the way he was glaring daggers at him. He should never have come here in the first place.

“Um. I probably shouldn’t, there’s, there’s more stuff I gotta do, I think. A-and my taxi’s waiting. I’ll just send Matt a quick message and I’ll be out of your hair –”

“Matt’s inside.”

Foggy gulped. The kid had stepped to the side to make room for him to walk through, leaving him with no real choice but to enter the building. He slowly pushed past him, warily trying his best not to brush against him as he was still eyeing him suspiciously and seemingly ready to bite off his head at any moment.

This was soon forgotten when his eyes landed on the couch.

“Holy JESUS, Matt! What the hell happened to you?”

Matt’s whole body was covered in lacerations, leaking bandages and purple bruises, one of his hands wrapped to the point where it was almost the size of his head. A blanket was messily draped over his torso, more than likely hiding more wounds than anyone ever deserved to ever have.

He shrugged nonchalantly at the question – (which set off a familiar flare of irritation and frustration inside him that Foggy chose to ignore this _one_ time) – and had the nerve to fucking _smile_ at him.

“Got into a bit of trouble with someone -” he coughed. “- but didn’t win. Unlucky day.” The irritation flared again – Matt was hiding things from him. Again. It burnt in his guts and at the tentative bridge of a friendship between them and Foggy knew that they both knew it. The reason why their seemingly concrete friendship had fallen apart in the first place.

“Should I leave, then?” His voice was bitter, much harsher than intended, but Foggy couldn’t bring himself to be concerned about something as trivial as _Matt’s feelings towards the way Foggy talked to him_ , and if he had a problem with that –

“What did you come here to talk about, Foggy?” He asked softly.

Foggy instantly deflated. Perhaps it was the lack of fight in his voice, or the tender way in which he called his name, but Matt’s response completely threw him off. He had come here expecting a verbal spar at some point, and with that option suddenly thrown out the window, he found himself having no idea what to do. The room was silent.

“Um. Matt? Maybe I should leave instead?” The kid from before piped up. He even had a hand meekly raised in the air, like a primary schooler.

“Absolutely not. Stay.” That was definitely his Daredevil voice and _definitely_ out of Matt’s character. The Matt Foggy knew ( _thought_ he knew) would never even raise his voice against anyone who barely looked over eighteen, yet here he was, growling at some strangely buff yet skinny kid who, for some reason, wasn’t affected by his Daredevil voice or even remotely intimidated. And somehow wasn’t worried about sharing a room with an older man that was bleeding out on his own couch. The boy sighed, then took a seat on the couch next to Matt. Foggy noted somewhere in the back of his head that the kid was still giving him a weird look.

“Uh… is this… have we ever–?”

“Peter. We’ve met before.”

Oh. _Oh._

“Enough, Peter.” He hissed, filling the room with silence again. While Foggy reeled at the wild change between what he internally dubbed as _Matt_ Matt and Daredevil Matt, Peter begrudgingly picked at his nails, before deciding to leave the couch and making a beeline towards the coffee machine. When Matt turned to Foggy’s general direction again, his demeanour completely transformed once more. “Can I get you anything, Foggy?” He asked softly.

And dammit, now he was gonna cry, because his ex-best friend and lifelong partner was practically dying on his own couch, yet _still_ all he could think of was his friend’s wellbeing, his basic, _normal_ friend, whose worst fears everyday were trains not following their timetables and the rising price of petrol, _not_ whether he was going to come home in one piece or not. Poor Matt couldn’t seem to resent him and still saw him as a friend, and that one-sided friendship somehow stung even more than the thought of them never speaking or seeing each other ever again. 

Internally, Foggy reminded himself again that he should never have come here. Nevertheless, he was here now, and so he collapsed on the couch opposite him and buried his face in his hands, slowly inhaling and exhaling to ground himself. He dragged his fingers through his hair as he focused on his breathing, and on his own thoughts. There were so many things he wanted to say, but couldn’t quite do so with another person around. From the kitchen, Peter seemed to be pretending not to listen and trying to blend into the background, but it didn’t make his presence feel any less invasive, but then again, when was Foggy ever going to talk one-on-one like this to him ever again?

“You – uh, haven’t picked up any of Claire’s calls or responded to her messages. We–” _we were worried sick._ “I –” _I thought you were dead._ “–was just checking up on you.”

The silence was thankfully filled by the sound of the coffee machine.

“But uh. I see you’re alive and mostly well so. I think I’m gonna leave now.” He tacked on quickly when there was no immediate response. Distantly, Foggy thought about how Matt could hear his heartbeat and wondered if he could hear what he was really trying to say. His face was definitely burning now, and he hastily tried to diffuse the heat in his face as he quickly stood up.

“You can stay for a coffee, if you want?” And damn it, Foggy had never hated himself more than this very moment because he froze again. In that one deceptively simple plea, he knew that in this very moment, he had surrendered all power to him, and no matter what kind of crazy request he could come up with on the spot, Matt would say yes to all of it without hesitation. This was dangerous. Too dangerous.

“No no no.” Foggy quickly spoke up. “I wasn’t planning to stay, I just… Just wanted to quickly stop by. I’ll be going.”

“See you around?” Matt’s voice was still soft, like he couldn’t bear the thought of raising his voice at him ever again. Foggy’s heart skipped a beat, then ached. He sounded so damn hopeful, yet still pensive, expecting outright rejection but still daring to hope for the best.

His ears rang, and his mind raced as he struggled to find the right response. He couldn’t do either to him, and if he was to look into his eyes right now the chances of him falling onto his knees and begging for things to return to the way they were wouldn't beso unlikely.

“… We’ll see.” He finally managed, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. That was the best he could offer. He hesitated for a second, wondering if he should say something else, but then decided otherwise and practically rushed to the front door. Peter watched him go, seemingly deep in thought.

Silence followed after the door shut behind him. Matt continued to stare straight forward, his free hand slowly tapping the couch arm, the rest of his body unmoving, though Peter knew he was listening, waiting for the taxi to drive out of earshot and either waiting for him to change his mind and come back or checking to make sure he left safely. The younger man eventually made his way back to the lounge with what smelt like a fairly mean coffee with a little too much sugar, and a cookie balanced precariously on top of that was _definitely_ stale.

“So uh. Did you guys used to date or something?” He asked. Matt huffed. He felt like shit in more ways than one but couldn’t help the chuckle that threatened to slip past his lips.

“No. Nothing like that, we – we weren’t like that, no.”

“Pfft.” Peter stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. “I think Foggy had a thing for you. Doesn’t stop me from being kind of sad about what happened between you two though.”

“Peter.” The younger man paused for a second, as if contemplating whether to keep talking or not, but then kept going.

“He obviously still cares about you a lot. I think you two could still make up.”

Matt sighed, and this time he tried to ignore the _other_ pain in his chest. “You know better than anyone else why I can’t.”

Peter fell silent at this, thoughtfully considering as he was reminded of every unpleasant mistake, every bad decision, every interaction that led him to where he was today.

He crossed his legs underneath himself and folded his arms behind his head, eyes now tracing the outline of a small stain on the roof. There was no use dwelling on the past anymore, no point in drowning in fears sorrows, and all the what-ifs. Negative thoughts, regrets and self-hatred swirled around his brain at every waking minute, sometimes seeping into his dreams, but at this point Peter was used to shutting it all out.

“Can’t have it all, can we?” He murmured. Matt’s refreshments were still sitting on the table. Peter picked up the cookie and tossed it at the older man, smirking when he caught it in midair.

“Damn right.” Matt replied, then took a bite.

There was an appreciable silence between the two vigilantes, broken only by the occasional honk from the distant traffic outside. “You never know, though.” Peter eventually said after the cookie was gone. “Sometimes they just keep fight back, even if you’re doing it to protect them. Even if you want them to go away and never think about you again. And sometimes you just gotta let that happen because doing otherwise would just become a huge waste of time for the both of you.”

Matt leaned back against the couch as well, closing his eyes and smiling as he imagined what it would be like.

“We’ll see.” He said quietly.


End file.
